Crawling On Your Knees
by iwriteforme
Summary: AU. Sam and Dean are not related. Sam is in a very difficult family, and has kept his troubles bottled up inside him till he is ready to burst. Will he let Dean help? No Incest or Slash. Warning: Sexual Abuse
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: There are mentions of child and teen sexual abuse in this story. If you are offended by that, please do not read.

Rating: M

Disclaimer: This is an AU. I do not own Sam or Dean or Supernatural. Don't own anything in the story actually, except the story muse.

This is a story close to my heart. Review, but please do not flame me.

Chapter 1:

It's just the beasts under your bed:

Sam Candelles cuddled up in his double bed, huge green eyes staring up at the dark, blinking off the sleep, straining to keep awake. His body shook with silent fear, beads of sweat running down his face. The weather was sweltering, and he would have given anything to lower the sheets surrounding his body like a shroud and let the air from the wobbling fan above his head cool his skin. But the sheet was an armor, albeit the worst one he could come up with. But they somehow infused an impossible ray of hope in him. The sheet and the pillow made him fight with more courage than he thought possible. They were his friends and his enemies. A way out of, a way in, a covering of the shame he felt. Maybe tonight, just tonight, there would be peace. God, how he longed for peace.

Somewhere he had read that true courage is not the absence of fear, it is the grit to go forward even if fear gripped you in its evil claws. But Sam was not strong enough for courage, that's what he thought, and it broke every part of him that was waiting to be broken. It left him holding on to thin air, wondering what could be done about his situation and when he would probably die and put an end to all of this.

He stared at the clock on the wall, illuminated by the dull blue light emanating from the television, switched on and completely mute. It was 3 in the morning, the dark shadows outside his window swaying in a kind of weird dance. He would be really sleepy in school tomorrow, but he had trained himself to be alert even if he was sleepy, having perfected the art in the previous years. He did not worry about not getting enough sleep. On the contrary. If he did not fall asleep for the rest of his life, it still would not have been enough.

The rustling of the tree branches outside his window made him jump. He pushed himself down on his bed, forcing himself to relax, wondering if anything would be fine again, heart thudding in his chest as he tried to control his breathing. A waft of breeze on his face calmed him a little and he pushed down further, curling himself into a small ball. His eyes started closing, and he let the sweet darkness of sleep pull him under.

He slowly opened his eyes, feeling confused and scared. Before he could register anything, he saw a figure hurriedly rushing out of his door with a certain clumsiness. He sat up immediately, trying to shake off the webs of sleep from his mind. With horrifying reality, he looked down at his body.

The sheet was pulled down and he could feel the sense of being violated somehow. It crawled under his skin and ate at his being in slow pieces until there was nothing left but a terrible ache of being degraded. A sense of condemnation came over him Why was he not awake? How could he have fallen asleep? He had become so deprived of sleep lately that when it overcame his mind, he was not able to shake it off. But he almost always woke up feeling dirty and filthy.

That man had been in the room again... doing that thing... touching him. Sam felt the contents of his dinner rising up his throat and he resolutely swallowed it down. He was not going to break. He was not going to break, not yesterday, not today, not tomorrow.

He would find a way out of this hell. Where that man would never have access to him, where he could live in peace and safety. He knew he could run away, but rationally, would a teenager living off the streets be any better off than what he was now? The risks would be more than he could take. Sam was amazed at the way his mind was calm and collected under the circumstances. It was as if he was blocking off the pain and the filth and thinking strategically to get out of this hell. He would get out. For sure.

But as he lay back on his pillow and prayed that he would be safe for the rest of the night, he could not stop a shard of his broken heart escaping from his eyes in a single crystal tear.

Did you like the beginning? Review please! 


	2. Chapter 2

Sam grew up as a spoiled child, always having all the things that he wished for, but never having the people he really needed. Sam's mother was out of the house a lot, working to keep her growing business successful. She was extremely rich and could afford many things that were way beyond the budget of the rest of their middle class family. The umpty number of relatives who stayed with him, feeding off this income, just expected him to be a spoiled brat and credited him with almost no feelings whatsoever. He was just rude and mean and spoiled, never sad or worried or heartbroken.

His physical wounds always got treated with the greatest of care, but the festering wound of loneliness in his heart did not get bandaged, it just grew cold and dark and damp, leaving him with a mask of coldness on the outside and a desperate need for company on the inside. He had maids around him and people who bought him anything if he so much as hinted that he wanted it, but there was a feeling of hollowness in him that his mind could not comprehend. There were many things he could not understand, he was just six after all, and he put it down to young age and ignorance.

So Sam learned to be just what people expected of him, an insolent brat, burying his real feelings deep inside him, so deep that he forgot they existed.

But that didn't last long. He opened a door somewhere in his heart for his first father figure. His mother fell in love (or that's what she called it) and married Robert Mellings at quite short notice. Mellings came across as a fun person to Robert, he was always joking around and teasing people around him. Mellings made him laugh. Always made him feel special, made him feel wanted. He followed Mellings around like a puppy, laughing when he was paid the slightest attention, giggling at the rough and tumble play that was Mellings' trademark. He felt he had a father.

At the same time, his growing mind began to comprehend that something was wrong with the family. There seemed to be a yawning rift making its way through the middle of the house and people seemed to ignore the proverbial elephant in the middle of the room. Mom seemed to be having problems with her sibligns, somehow sensing that they clung on only because of the money, and they drifted further and further away. There were talks about demons and witches and hauntings, something he was terrified of and yet willing to face because, deep down, he felt that there were more things scarier than ghosts and witches. Where they came in to play, Sam did not know.

His school life was normal. He was one of the top students in his class and rarely ever was troublesome. His teachers adored him, and most of the little girls fell for his adorable dimples and charming manners with women. But his home life was a mixture of fear and excitement. He didn't know what was going on, but he sensed the weird undercurrents in the house.

That was when all things took a turn for the worse. Mellings came home one day swaying from side to side and suddenly looking terrifying. His hero suddenly turned into someone Sam struggled to recognize and failed miserably. He knew Mellings was drunk, and he didn't know what to do. He watched as his mother tried to grasp the swaying man, dragging him toward the couch and settling him down. He now heard words and sentences that he had never heard before, he knew they were bad and he didn't understand what set Mellings off.

He tried to ignore the whole mess in the house, not talking about it, outwardly staying the same. Inside him, however, the hole of loneliness just widened even more.

After that, his whole life became a blur for the next two years. He remembered his school because those were the best times ever. Nobody yelled (except in play) and everybody was friendly. But the evenings were spent covering in fear in a room nearby as his mother was abused and beaten by Mellings and then his relatives started leaving, one by one. He didn't know why they all stayed together in the first place, and now it was just a few people left.

He watched as magicians came and proclaimed that the house was haunted, that Mellings behaved brutally because he was bewitched. He watched them perform strange incantations in the house, trying to make whatever was torturing Mellings go away. His 8 year old mind didn't grasp the immensity of it, but he was unsure of his every move. What if he set something off? What were these people doing? And in the loneliness of those times, the little child began to slip through the cracks. 


End file.
